Hardest of Hearts
by AmbiguouSanity
Summary: You, an unstable holder of at least 8 doctorates (you can't keep track anymore, but you're sure theres more) who loves art, music, and brawling. Him, a mysterious, angry individual who has a weird tail and just won't seem to leave you alone since you moved here. Reader-insert. Romance/humor/action. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Prologue: My Alcoholic Friends

_A/n: This i a new reader insert I'm working on... I'll be updating soon, and hopefully _A Cool Guy and an OCD Kid _will be updated soon as well. This story has a different feel than my other, but mostly because I can have a character to mess around with (you) and can not have to worry about butchering the story by making it OOC._

Prologue: My Alcoholic Friends

You crack open your seemingly bleeding eyes; your head is pounding. Quickly, you pivot your head from side to side while thrashing your arms to wake yourself up. It seems ridiculously humid right now. Suddenly you realize, as you thrust yourself up to be leaning on your elbows, you have no idea who is sleeping next to you. You squint, not sure how to take this in. Everything seemed shaded, but with a yellow tinge. The windows are slathered with greasy packaging paper. Slowly, you turn your head to see the alarm clock glaring at you with red numbers. You flail in attempt to find your glasses, but to no avail; therefore you were reduced to clutching the light-emitting object close to your throbbing face.

Did that say Tuesday?

Fuck. You were so fired. There goes another meaningless job you were excruciatingly over qualified for. Your stomach heaves and your lungs tighten. Hurriedly, you throw your face to your left to ward off the feeling only to puke all over the person sleeping next to you. You leap out of the unfamiliar bed and hold both arms to the side of your head in sickening surprise. The man (was it a man? It was hard to tell, you've waken up with both) was still sleeping. Oh well, that brown duvet looked retch-worthy anyway.

Heh. He must be really conked out. What was it you were fooled into taking? You can't exactly recall, because the last the thing you remember is taking shots of absinth with your friends. Damn alcoholics. They always plunged you into the aperture of the weekend.

After recognizing the fact you wouldn't be able to remember no matter how much you dug into your subconscious, you shoveled around the room and closely inspected anything that slightly resembled clothes in your blurry vision. Nothing. You literally found none of your clothes, just some crusty fucking cum sock. Only at this disconcerting point, you tilt you head down to further scrutinize this clothing situation.

You're pretty much clothed, wearing some red skimpy dress, so you assume it'll do. Fleetingly, you skirt and stumble your way out of the now vomit-reeking apartment. Thank god you could find the door.

You need a vacation.


	2. Chapter One: Laugh Now, Cry Later

_A/n: Yes, i know, a quick update. But this is really fun to write! Thanks cabellosdefuego for the compliment on my writing style! I can't believe you looked at my story so quickly =]_

Chapter One: Laugh Now, Cry Later

After four transfers on the poorly engineered South City Transit routes, you manage to not only locate the motel that you currently reside in but you glasses which were in your cleavage. Walking out onto the asphalt, your bare feet burn against the low albedo surface. Trudging forward, you look up at the seven-story building. It's a slummy toilet, but it's dirt-cheap so you don't desperately care. It is much better than sleeping on your boozy friends' kitchen room floors.

You slide through the door, attempting to dodge the manager. Hey, just because it's dirt-cheap doesn't mean you're a millionaire! Paying the rent is nearly impossible when you can't hold a minimum-wage job. You remind yourself this is not your fault, but your absinth-drinking rag-tag group of shantytown friends. The musky stench hits you like a thousand-year-old keg. Never. You will never get or want to get used to that reek. Audibly, you gag and luckily, the fat bastard's asleep.

Now, without any fear of being caught, you saunter up three flights of stairs to your motel room. You swipe the key card and punch in your room code. Around you, the yellow wallpaper swells and shrinks due to the leaky roof. It leaves only the strong smell of tainted tobacco.

You grace your lips with a cigarette and turn the knob. As you light your smoke, you gently nudge the door to open, but something stops it halfway. You sigh, releasing swirls of grey due to your recent drag.

While sinking yourself into the wall, you skim past the door, take a drag, flick the door shut, and then have smoke bellow through your nostrils in one smooth motion. The amount of job offers you get from those science facilities is phenomenal. They must be jamming their local post offices until they burst. And they must be doing it every single day. You pinch the bridge of your nose and proceed into the dingy motel bunker in an attempt to locate the broom. Elegantly, you practice a few hurricane kicks around the half-empty bottles of whisky, shattered on the floor.

You suddenly lunge forward and land, holding on to the top of the broom with a handstand. Then, you use your weight to slam down on it, having Newton's third law thrust you back before the pile of letters. You lean into the broom and have another drag. This room gets bigger every time you grace it with your presence. A benevolent smirk shot up in the right corner of your mouth as you remember throwing the mattress out of your fourth-story window. After your shenanigans, only a couch remained, shivering for when it would suddenly get its quick departure.

Yes, you only had a refrigerator, two shelves and a couch in your apartment. So what? You were hardly ever here. You sweep the letters over to the couch that you plop down on with an expanse of smoke. After you flick your Zippo, you begin to burn each letter individually, cursing that your "genius" couldn't be left unheard. Your nineteen, you just want to be an underachieving intellectual for a little longer. Suddenly, a cute cartoon cat caught your eye.

"What the…" you murmur gruffly. You clear your throat and realize haven't used your voice all day.

This was a letter you've never seen before. The times new roman carefully spelled Capsule Corp. beside the cat. Curiosity spiked, you methodically rake the flame over the top of the letter to reveal the contents without harming it. You carefully flip over the paper as you read the job offer. It compliments your achievements at such a young age and casually requests you to pick up and move to the family-owned business mansion as part of your 440,000-zenny-a-month salary for your all purpose executive scientist position. It also wanted to let you know you may be the tutor of some kid, Gohan.

…Mansion?

…Over a million zenny a year?

…

…

You quickly emailed in a reply that had one word from one of your many, untraceable email addresses. The word it contained was "yes."

You didn't have time to be formal and to make sure it showed you were the sender; you had to go spend this month's pay check on some Daniels and the next flight to West City. You're outta this town, fuckers!


	3. Chapter Two: Basket Case

_A/n: I just want Vegeta to be in this already. But sadly, not this chapter! Also, I would like some input as to wheter or not I should put "_ _ _ _" or put a name in for the main character..._

Chapter Two: Basket Case

Holy Hannah, you wanted a cigarette.

It took you about two hours to get to the pristine airport. Yet it's beautiful glass architecture and construction were blurred out when you realized your Jack was only about a quarter full. You clambered your way through the ticket booth. Since you had no baggage what so ever, you didn't have to worry about any more lines of grumbling, slurping, gross, loud, and disgusting people. At that point you remember chugging some more booze to try to wash away your hate for them.

About three hours later you finally got through customs, but it only took that extended interval of time because apparently it wasn't all right to defend yourself. Those security workers were asking for it! As soon as a dude sees a drinking girl in a red dress they want to undress you up and down.

And not with their eyes.

It was one thing for them to take your booze at customs. It was another thing for them to replace it with little one-serving bottles. It was yet another thing to cap you at twenty. You weren't even tipsy yet! But they crossed the final straw when they told you that you couldn't smoke on the plane. That was totally unnecessary. It wasn't creating any interference. Smokes are not bombs. The rule. Was. Unnecessary.

However, you, as impatient as you are, are not prepared to have the plane make an emergency landing in Central City due to a temper tantrum. Even if it comes from you. At this point in your flight it'll take only twenty more painstaking minutes of old what his name sitting next to you trying to get in your pants. However, the flight attendants don't mind you whacking the old man with his stupid turtle shell backpack. You guess he's too much even for them.

"Anyways, where are you headed?" the old man croaks.

You replied snappily, "Why on earth would I tell some weird old dude like you?"

The both of you stare at each other in silence. The old man breaks it by making a wonderful proposition: basic information in exchange for some more Crown Royal.

"It's a deal oldie," you exclaim, flinging your arm up in excitement back and accidently hitting another passenger in the face. His nose starts bleeding and he cries, rushing to the bathroom. You ignore the whole incident. You'll never see him again anyways.

"You've got quite an arm there, uh-"

"_ _ _ _," you cut him off to tell oldie your name. "What's your name any ways?"

"I'm Master Roshi!" Roshi hollers.

"Well, Roshi how about some more Royal?"

The last few minutes of your flight goes pretty well considering, if Roshi's claims were true, you just met the turtle hermit. Kung-Fu masters are some-what of a foreign thing to you, considering you taught yourself fighting by watching gangs fight on the main floor of your old motel. You bid adieu to Roshi and step out from the terminal into the blinding sun.

Mentally, you curse how something so essential to all life could be so ridiculously annoying. While attempting to recall the direction in which Capsule Corp is, you light one of the most refreshing smokes you've had in your life. That hits the alveoli just right. Once an employer asked if you were worried about getting lung cancer, you reminisce. You asked him if he was worried about being shot in the balls.

On your way to your destination, you decide to stop in to buy a little more decent clothing. Normally, you wouldn't bother, but since this is exactly 5,280,000 zenny a year before taxes you're talking about, you concur with your brain when it suggests you look at least presentable.

Ignoring any and all sales clerks in your way, you successfully purchase a long suit jacket and, of course, steal flare jeans with a plain form-fitting t-shirt.

As you leave the store with a returning benevolent smirk, you light another cigarette then duck into a gas station washroom to change.

Before you even begin to shred off the skanky fabric clinging to you, you try to wash off the raunchy smell of booze in the sink. After scrubbing yourself relentlessly, you scrape your drenched skin dry with scratchy brown paper towel from the dispenser. When you start peeling off the dress, you accidently slam your elbow against the pale green ceramic wall; instantaneously, letting flow a string of curses about the cramped and unwelcoming space. It would help if isn't dirtier than your apartment as well as generally aesthetically disgusting. It's nearly as gross as the sight of puke on that duvet earlier today. Nearly as gross. Finally, you clothe yourself but as you look in the mirror at your new and clean self, you can't help but wonder if this company would have hired you if they actually knew you.

Probability of zero.

Scratch that, make it point two. Some people find you charming. Typically, you don't care because the majority of people you meet, even your old 'friends' you just ditched earlier, disgust you incredibly. However, now that you've finally given into the whole corporate greed thing, you can't help but feel the need to get at least some people to respect you. After all, Pavlov did whatever he wanted and he got all but discredited. Stupid animal rights. If someone murders puppies and kitties they're a psychopath, but if they hunt for sport they're just a nice and normal citizen. Yeah right. You light a cigarette as you walk out of the washroom, despite what the cashier was shouting at you. You just stopped, turned your head, and then blew smoke in his face before exiting the station.

When you emerge, you see how Capsule Corp. really affects the quality of life here. West City is much more advanced than South City. For example, you note that the vehicles appear to hardly emit any green house gases at all, savor the few cars that weren't hovercrafts. You see the flaws in their construction almost immediately. If they decreased the wave's intensity towards the hovering height, even a minuscule amount, they could redirect the energy into emergency back thrusters. Not only would it prevent more accidents it would make driving donuts immensely better. No wonder they need your assistance.

After quickly mulling the idea over, you start heading towards WST 3338926 K.


	4. Chapter Three: Angel Losing Sleep

_A/N: Here it is! I haven't had much time to write but, I figured I would put in some effort tonight and write something. Things in italics are flash-backs. Ooh, character development! Anyways, please review and things._

Chapter Three: Angel Losing Sleep

When you walked into Capsule Corp. you were bombarded with how beautiful it was. The sleek feeling of the foray was humanized by the soft pink colour and the receptionist was simply delicious. When you carefully walked over to her desk she asked the person on the phone to hold. In a sweet voice she politely welcomed you to Capsule Corp.

"Do you have an appointment?" she inquired.

You nodded quickly. Where you come from, people are never this kind and it caught you of guard. Almost as much as the blue-haired bimbo that barged through the huge doors that exited to an Atrium.

"Dad! She's here!" the woman shrieked. You noted she didn't seem as tolerable as the receptionist.

You shifted your eyes away from her silently. The doors to the sky-lit room slid open and a short and kind-looking old man emerged. Instantaneously, you noticed that on his shoulder was the cat on the envelope you received earlier.

"Oh, you must b _," he assumed. "Welcome to your new home, I'm Dr. Brief and this is my daughter, Bulma."

You cracked a smile in reply and attempted to do it warmly. "Hello," you waved to both of them. It was difficult for you to try to be courteous. After all, you hardly have seemed to care about being so in the past. You saved it for the people who earned it.

They smiled back at you genuinely, and you began to question if the were real people and not robots. How could anyone be this kind to someone they don't know?

"We'll give you time to settle in," Bulma offered. She was most likely making up for earlier. "C'mon, let me show you to your room."

"You two have fun," Dr. Brief replied.

You thanked both of them, as sweetly as possible. After feeling the pain of having your mouth in a grin for so long, you were relived when Bulma showed you to your room.

She eyed you with an understanding look, as if she knew that this was a lot for you to take in so quickly. "Feel free to relax," she mentioned to you as she handed you a lanyard. "My dad already got your keycards made up." She motioned for you to turn it over and you complied. "See? There's a map on the back if you want to explore."

"Thank you," you cough out. She seems to have a temper and you don't want to set it off. Not that you couldn't take her, but because you know you wouldn't be able to control yourself if she ended up toeing the line.

She waved and you began to inspect the room. In short, you were impressed. It was twice the size of your late apartment and had five times more furniture. The earthy tones gave it a warm and natural feel. You noticed how clean it was; there wasn't a spec of dirt anywhere. Not even in the bathroom. Not even a dust bunny.

You gazed at the glass shower. Not having a bathtub would be a thing for you to get used to. Alas, it was probably for the best because you normally fell asleep in them anyways. Those were the days.

_"Wake up, _ _ _ _."_

_The smell of him gently raised your senses. Feigning sleep just a bit longer, an impulsive smirk raised the corners of your mouth as he gently kissed you._

You shook your head. Now was not the time to bring up the past. Drinking it away was easy, but until you get some job security, you need to stay professional. Suddenly, you veer out of the washroom and run into the bedroom, flipping backwards onto the bed. The way the apartment was set up calmed you: a washroom, a bedroom and a living room kitchen, all separated by doors. There was a closet with sliding mirror doors that contained only a lab coat. The amount of privacy Dr. Brief had given you was unnecessary. Unnecessary and greatly appreciated.

The ceiling was very pretty, but it bored you quickly so you decided to explore. When you exited your room to the Atrium, you were finally hit with how expansive it really was. Your room, like the others, was on floor two. This gave you an excellent view of the indoor outdoors.

There were so many animals.

_"We should get a cat," you whisper to him._

_"No cats."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Animals are useless." Like you. He didn't say it, you felt it._

You shudder and light a smoke. If only you could just get a drink. Anything really. You took a couple drags and began descending the stairs. Suddenly you felt a piercing gaze stabbing at you. Cranking your eyes to the left you see a tail. Then a person. A tail that was attached to a person. Could this get any weirder for you? What was even stranger was the fact he was wearing a pink shirt.

You see him snort a little and look away, only to glance back at you. Pfft. What was his problem? Quickly you finished the slope of the stairs, exited the greenhouse and then the building. Since the company only gave you a stupid lab coat, you might as well stock up on some more clothes. Also, if you get out of here you can get a drink.


End file.
